


i thought i had you in the palm of my hand

by pendragoh



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anal Sex, Barista Liam, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining Zayn, and forgiving and a really nice guy, author zayn, niall and harry are barely in this, zayn is kind of awkward, zouis friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:38:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2776745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendragoh/pseuds/pendragoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started in a coffee shop on a bleak, syrupy morning. Yes, it’s all very cliché. </p>
<p>Or, Zayn is an author who's having a terrible case of writer's block and Liam is the barista he falls in love with who is unfortunately unavailable. </p>
<p>Written for the Ziam Winter Fic Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i thought i had you in the palm of my hand

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: au where zayn's a successful author and goes to england for a break where he ends up in the worst coffee shop ever. he falls in love with the always happy, sometimes a little too enthusiastic idiot that prepares his morning coffee with the brightest smile.
> 
> i'm not gonna lie, i wrote 7k of this fic today. and it's probably not my best, and i didn't follow the prompt as much as i should have, but i hope my person likes it anyway. i haven't looked over this because i was afraid i'd start crying but i did run it through spell-check, so hopefully there isn't too many typos. i hope you guys enjoy my story...
> 
> [there's now a russian translation!!](http://ficbook.net/readfic/2697279)

(It all started in a coffee shop on a bleak, syrupy morning. Yes, it’s all very cliché.

But hold on, because we haven’t exactly gotten there yet.)

-

Zayn smiles indulgently as he takes the container of leftovers his mother shoves into his hands. She’s always making more food than they can eat, too used to cooking for six people. Now that he and Doniya are out of the house, she still has trouble adjusting. 

“You better call me as soon as you get home, mister.” She commands, poking a stern finger into his chest.

“Yes, mum,” Zayn acquiesces, trying not to laugh.

“I mean it, Zayn Javadd!”

“I know, mum,”

“And stop forgetting to eat. You’re skin and bones.”

“Okay,”

“And call every once in a while, alright?”

“Mum—”

Before he has a chance to finish, she tugs into a tight hug, arms locked around his neck, hands compulsively wringing the collar of his jean jacket. He knows she’s trying to hold back tears.

“It never gets easier, you know,” she says, voice shaky and muffled, “saying goodbye to you.”

“It’s okay,” Zayn mumbles, rubbing her back, attempting to comfort her as best as he can. She pulls back and grips his shoulders firmly before cupping his face tenderly in her palms.

“You’ll be back for New Years, yeah?” she asks.

“Yeah,”

“Not too famous to hang with your mum, are ya?” she teases, but it falls a little flat. Zayn knows that she has had the most difficult time with him being gone so much recently, his book tours and long secluded vacations used to write his novels forcing him to be away most of the year with little free time.

Shaking his head, he assures, “Never.”

Wiping the suspicious glimmer from her eyes, she lets him go with a light pat to his chest and a pinch on his cheek. He bids farewell to his father and sisters with a heavy heart, wishing he didn’t have to leave them so soon or so often. Zayn was a family man after all.

He puts his meager luggage in the backseat of his beat-up car, sighing as he drops behind the wheel. One look out of the windshield at the cold, dreary, gloomy sky has him already missing the warmth of his childhood home.

-

Zayn’s mouth is dry and sticky and tasteless. He groans as he turns blearily in the direction of the offensive item that woke him up in the first place. He slams his hands on his night table until his hand falls onto his phone, angrily answering it and bringing it up to his ear.

“What?” he growls.

“Someone’s touchy,” Louis sniggers over the line. He should’ve known it was him.

“Do you know what time it is?” Zayn asks incredulously, looking over at his clock, frustration doubling as he reads ‘8:10.’ “It’s eight in the fucking morning!”

“Rise and shine, sunshine,” the other man replies cheerily, clearly not caring about Zayn’s issue with the rays of light filtering through his admittedly thin curtains. “We’ve got book ideas to discuss.”

“Why do we have these meetings, again? Shouldn’t those be my decisions?”

“Oh come on, Zayn, it’s not like I’m telling you what to write. It’s just spitballing ideas. There’s nothing wrong with a little help, you know.”

“Shut up, Louis,” he grumbles.

“Up and at ‘em, Malik!” he shouts. “I expect you at Espresso-Self in like, a half an hour.”

Zayn is about to aggressively protest because he’s only had about two hours of sleep and again, it’s _eight in the fucking morning_ , but something stops him short.

“What’s Espresso-Self?”

“The coffee shop, duh.” Louis deadpans, as if it’s common knowledge. And Zayn supposes it would be for someone who lived here full time, unlike himself.

“What happened to Frappe to Heaven?”

“That place was foul, I’m glad it’s gone.”

Zayn snorts, “Yeah, this place sounds so much better. It is London. Dingy, dirty coffee shops are kind of the norm.”

“This place is nice, I swear, at least for non-coffee-snobs like us normal folk. And the main barista, Liam, he’s really nice. And uptight.”

There’s a pause.

“I’m hanging up now,” Zayn says flatly.

“You better be there at 9:00 or I’ll kick your arse.”

-

Zayn has known he wanted to be an author since he was just seven years old.

In primary school, he was very shy and could never work up the nerve to interact with his fellow peers. It got so bad his parents tried to put him in therapy to work through his social issues. Most of his recesses and time alone was spent with his tattered notebook his uncle had bought him for his birthday that year.

Because he was at an age where it was generally easy to make friends, his mother worried incessantly about his inability to do so, and read his journal because she thought it was a diary. Apparently, she could “sense his talent” and from then on, led him to believe in his own talent and eventually realize his desire to share his writings with the world.

Zayn never really made friends throughout his entire school career. He wasn’t understood easily by his classmates. It’s not to say Zayn was entirely blameless, either—it’s not like he tried to socialize anyone. Because of this, he shoved all his feelings of loneliness and exclusion into finishing his first novel, _Thoughts of a Misunderstood Loser_. Looking back now, he honestly wishes that he hadn’t spent so much time on that mediocre piece of so-called literature.

It wasn’t until Zayn was attending uni and living in a dirt-cheap, disgusting flat that he felt motivated to write another book. The story was inspired by the loss of his grandfather and the terrible thoughts infecting his own mind at the time. It was a dark, gritty novel and once he had completed it, he had wanted to throw it to the side and never think of it again. However, his only friend at the time, Harry, managed to get his hands on it and convinced Zayn that it was good enough to be published.

Zayn met Louis through Harry, who had met the lad through one of his hipster friends. Louis had told him that he loved his story, he thought Zayn was very talented, he worked for a publishing company, and he wanted to help get Zayn’s story published. As they were working together, they became close friends and that is why he’s stuck with Louis to this day. Not that he’s complaining.

To Zayn’s complete surprise and utter happiness, the book was a success. In what seemed like a blink of an eye, he was getting messages from random people on all of his official pages (made by Louis’ request) on how real and raw his story was, and how it even helped some people through their own grief. There truly is no feeling to describe how amazing it feels to know your struggles, which always seem never-ending, have aided others on their various journeys.

Following his breakout, Zayn rented a new (and much nicer) flat, and dropped out of uni to pursue his writing career fulltime. He hired his manager and soon to be best friend, Niall, and set out on a book tour of Europe.

Lonely hotel rooms and lack of meals that weren’t fast food were the price he had to pay for his tiny amount of fame, and Zayn found himself missing home and his friends and human contact, really. He learned that even though he’d been alone pretty much his entire life, once you get a taste of what it’s like to have people to rely on and see face to face every day, people you can trust, it was kind of hard to adjust back to his old ways.

Obviously his book tour had to end sometime, and when it did, Zayn went straight home for a month to recuperate. His parents (his mother especially) were ecstatic. He’d barely seen them since he started university, let alone after he dropped out and released a book. A week into his so-called “vacation,” Zayn felt the familiar feeling in his fingertips, the twitch in his knuckles, the overpowering sensation of _needing_ to write before the inspiration exited his brain.

Of course, he’d told Louis and of course, Louis had been beyond excited. Which prompted him to order Zayn home early and normally, Zayn would’ve told the other lad absolutely _not_ but he really did want to write again and plus, he was going stir-crazy staying in the house all day.

Thus, Zayn packed his stuff and drove home.

-

Blowing lightly into his gloved hands, Zayn makes his way to the shop. The sky is a seemingly blank canvas today, the sun’s attempts to conquer the overcast painting everything a bright powdery pearl. It’s dotted by grey clouds, and while it is relatively warm for London today, Zayn is fully bundled in a heavy jacket, gloves, and a soft, downy beany on his unkempt hair.

Maybe he would’ve tried to look a little nicer if it wasn’t a truly miserable hour of morning.

As he approaches the unfamiliar entrance, tries to take a peek through the windows to get a glimpse inside. He instantly sees Louis in the corner of the room seated with what is probably Yorkshire tea rested on the table in front of him. The place is not too crowded, only a couple students predictably trying to prepare for morning classes (thank god that’s not Zayn anymore, honestly) and one or two people who seem as if they’re about to head off to work.

He opens the door and cringes when he hears a jingly bell signaling his arrival. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Louis’ head jerk up and meets his gaze, tilting his head towards the counter, telling Louis he’s going to buy a drink.

Zayn walks up to the register and fishes his wallet out of the book bag on his shoulder. “Um, coffee…black, please.” He orders, not looking up. Finally he finds his wallet in the mess of clutter in his bag.

“One black coffee!” a man says happily—way too happy, actually, for this time of day-morning. Zayn’s eyes snap upwards. “That’ll be three quid.”

And Zayn’s…okay Zayn’s a fucking _author_ , alright? He’s generally good with words and all that but this man is really attractive. Really. His eyes remind Zayn of warm chocolate and they just radiate kindness and generosity; his cheeks are adorably chubby as if he never lost his baby fat, but as Zayn quickly (or maybe not so quickly) glances at the rest of the man’s body, he can definitely tell that’s not true. At all.

He’s staring and he knows he is, and it’s starting to get weird, so Zayn snaps himself out of his odd haze and scrambles to pay the man. He awkwardly thrusts the money towards the guy and pulls his gloves off while he’s at it just so he can occupy his fingers. He’s truly worried that he would caress the mark at the base of the man’s neck if he didn’t.

Surreptitiously he tries to find a name-tag. It’s not anywhere on the black polo shirt they wear for a uniform and Zayn is, ridiculously, disappointed.

The man hands over his drink and gives him a cheery grin. His eyes shrink into tiny crescents before they disappear and honestly, the boy is too cute, and Zayn needs to go. Right now, he needs to grab his beverage and walk away because nothing good is going to come of this.

Hastily, he returns a quick smile that probably ends up coming off as a grimace and hurriedly walks to where Louis is sitting. He greets his friend by plopping into the chair dramatically with a heavy sigh.

“Good morning to you too,” Louis smirks, sipping from his tea.

“Shut up,” Zayn grumbles, “if it weren’t for you, I would not be awake right now, which means you don’t get to complain about my grumpiness.”

“I wasn’t complaining,”

“If that wasn’t enough, I come here and I totally embarrass myself in front of the well fit check out guy—”

“Ah, you met Liam, then.”

“And I—” he stops. “Who?”

“Liam,” the other man supplies, completely unhelpfully.

“ _Who is that_?”

“I told you about him this morning. He works here, he’s the main guy.” Louis tells him.

“ _That’s_ Liam?” he asks incredulously.

“Yes,” Louis confirms, amused. “What were you expecting?”

“Not—that.”

His friend levels him with a calculating look then, and Zayn tries his hardest to hide his eyes without being too obvious, but he knows it’s no use. Louis is ridiculously observant and he can usually figure out what Zayn’s feelings before Zayn himself does.

A feline grin appears on Louis’ face and he’s caught, he’s sure of it. “You fancy him, don’t you? You think he’s fit?”

He can feel his face flush all the way to the tips on his ears, and he gathers himself by taking a small sip of his drink. “Maybe,”

“Unfortunately for you, Liam’s off the market. S’got a girlfriend,”

And, okay, that’s fine. It’s not like anything was going to happen. It’s not as if he was the first guy Zayn’s fancied in ages, or something. He just thought Liam was fit, is all, nothing more. This doesn’t prevent the churning of his stomach or the instinctive clenching of his hands, but. It’s alright.

“I didn’t ask,” Zayn pushes out, too roughly for someone who supposedly doesn’t care but fuck it. “Can we change the subject, please?”

“’Course!” Louis exclaims. “Let’s talk about the next amazing novel you’re gonna whip out of your arse. You got any ideas?”

“Yeah,”

The other man snaps his fingers, “Spit ‘em out, then!”

However, just like that, Zayn’s mind goes blank. He swears, just a few seconds ago, he was practically overflowing with places to go for his next story. Now he knows why authors always carry notepads with them, but Zayn is a sorry excuse for an author, really, because he was relying on his memory which he has now just discovered is _un_ reliable.  

“I had them,” he begins weakly, “I’ve forgotten them now, it seems.”

“Fantastic,” Louis blankly replies. Zayn automatically opens his mouth to apologize but he’s silenced by the hand Louis puts up. “It’s okay, Zayn. I’m not worried about it; I know you’ll give me a great story.”

“Yeah,” says Zayn softly. He’s always been doubtful of his own writing, as everyone is of their own work. Louis has always believed in him, though, and that gives him a small boost of confidence. He hopes he can create the novel Louis seems to think he can.

Snapped out of his reverie by a harsh clunking sound on the table, Zayn notices that Louis is packing up his things. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve gotta dash. Meetings, and all that.”

“Oh, alright,” he says matter-of-factly.

Louis pecks him on the cheek before he rushes off, shouting “Bye Liam!” as he exits, the perky jingling of the bells on the door filtering through Zayn’s ears.

Before he can stop, his gaze is flickering to the counter, landing on Liam for a split second. He forces himself to look away. There’s no use in staring at Liam. He may be beautiful, his rusty hair slicked back into a somewhat quiff, eyes crinkling temporarily as he smiles sweetly at every customer, but he has a girlfriend. And she’s probably beautiful too, but most importantly, she’s a female.

-

The next morning, he ventures to Espresso-Self with one mission: write a decent first chapter to his novel. Or at least figure out what he’s writing at all.

He’s not going to the coffee shop because of Liam, either. That would be ridiculous. He hasn’t said more than one sentence to him, and they were about coffee, so it doesn’t count. But said coffee was delicious, and he likes the layout of the small café, and it’s not very busy which means it’s quiet which means Zayn can concentrate on his book that he needs to finish in like, three months or so.

(Lies, lies, lies. The coffee was actually mediocre, Zayn does not have a clue what’s on the walls. What he does know is Liam, except not really.)

As he opens the door, he takes a look at the walls and wow, it’s nice in here. The walls are covered floor to ceiling with different posters and artsy photographs, various words of motivation and poetry littering here and there. It’s all very hipter-ish. It’s very London, actually.

There’s no one at the counter when he walks up. One glance around the room and he discovers there’s no one in the shop at all. There’s a bell that Zayn supposes he should use but that makes him uncomfortable, so he just stands there awkwardly. If they were closed there would’ve been a sign, right?

It’s been about five minutes and Zayn turns around to go back home, before he hears someone bustle out frantically and scramble, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize there was anyone here. Normally there’s one here at this time of afternoon.”

There’s really no reason Zayn feels like _he_ should apologize, but he does. Instead, he just says, “Erm, it’s all good.”

“Hey, you were here yesterday, weren’t you?” Liam smiles boyishly, cheeks pushing upwards.

Zayn flushes. He didn’t think Liam would remember him from yesterday. He reaches to push his hair out of his eyes but then he remembers he wore a headband today, his messy hair pulled back into a pitiful excuse of a ponytail. He ends up weirdly caressing his own forehead and god; he is probably coming off so fucking weird right now. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he settles for a nod.

“You were with Louis, weren’t you? You’re his writer-friend he’s always talking about.”

Oh, that’s how he remembers him. It’s easy to remember someone if you associate them with Louis, since Louis is so memorable. “That’s me, I guess,”

“It’s cool that you’re a writer,” Liam tells him.

“Not really,” jokes Zayn, “it’s just a lot of coffee and stressing out over deadlines.”

“So, it’s like uni then,”

“Just like uni,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Are you a student, then?”

“Yeah, I’m on holiday right now, though.”

“Cool…” He’s so bad at conversation it’s ridiculous. There’s a reason he never had friends his whole life. He offers Liam a crooked grin.

Liam’s eyes are a lovely chocolate brown, and they are soft as they look at Zayn. It’s almost unbearable, because Zayn’s eyes flitter to Liam’s lips, and he really, really, wants to kiss him right now—which is wrong because, once again, Liam has a _girlfriend_ , and they are probably very happy together.

Liam clears his throat. “Would you like to order?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn agrees. Anything to get him away from Liam right now because if not, Zayn is worried about what he’ll do.

“Do you want the same order as yesterday?”

“You remember it?” asks Zayn in disbelief. Liam confirms with a sheepish nod. “Then sure, yeah,”

He waits off to the side as the other man fixes his drink. It’s still just the two of them. Apparently no one wants coffee at one in the afternoon. Liam rings the bell, signaling Zayn that his order is finished.

“Thank you, Liam,” he mumbles, the name regrettably sweet on his tongue.

“You’re welcome, Zayn,” Liam replies. He’s ashamed to say that his name falling out Liam’s mouth sends shocks through his system, pleasurable warmth spreading within his body.

-

There is nothing as daunting as a blank Word document, cursor blinking mockingly at him, harshly reminding him that there are still no words on the page. Zayn rubs at his face, forefinger and thumb grabbing at the bridge of his nose. He wishes he had aspirin for the migraine that is pounding against his head.

Empty. That’s the word Zayn would use to describe his brain right now. He’s been here all day, desperate for _any_ idea to pop into his mind, but there’s been zip, zilch, zero.

He’s not exactly sure what’s wrong. Even when Zayn was at his lowest, he’s never had this trouble. It’s usually pretty easy for him to come up with new story concepts.

“Zayn?”

Closing his laptop out of reflex (he lived with three sisters, alright, privacy didn’t really apply), Zayn almost falls out of his seat.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you!” Liam apologizes. He comes up next to him and places his large hand on Zayn’s shoulder. His palm is so warm and Zayn is so, _so_ fucked.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, “I was distracted, I didn’t notice you. What’d you need?”

“Well, we’re about to close, so,” Liam answers, hand sweeping around to show Zayn the chairs stacked up on the tables. He’s changed out of his uniform, too, switching his stiff black polo shirt and slacks for a loose grey t-shirt and jeans. He looks delicious, and Zayn needs to go to sleep. Or have a wank.

“It’s been that long? Really?” asks Zayn. The clock on his phone says ‘10:00’ when he checks, and. He spent nine hours doing absolutely nothing, staring at a white page of oblivion. He’s trying really hard to not stress out yet; it _is_ only the second day of writing.

“Yeah… are you alright?”

Looking at Liam, Zayn can tell he’s sincere, and that he truly cares. He figures Liam couldn’t be insincere if he tried, honestly. There’s an adorable crease between his eyebrows where he’s furrowing them in concern and it’s sweet. Too sweet, and it’s not helping Zayn deny his foolish feelings for Liam.

“Just frustrated,” he says, shoving his computer into his laptop bag sloppily. He hastily pulls on his jacket, suddenly eager to leave. Shouldering his bag and shuffling towards the door, he mumbles a ‘goodbye’ at Liam.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Liam asks as Zayn’s hand closes around the doorknob. Hesitantly he turns around to face the man, swallowing the instant _yes!_ trying to force its way up his throat.

“No, I’m alright; I don’t live too far from here.”

“Okay,” Liam grins, “be safe.”

An involuntary smile creeps up on Zayn, and he finds himself beaming over at Liam. He nods, and before he turns back to the exit, he says, “See you tomorrow, Liam.”

-

Every day, Zayn goes to the coffee shop, drinks its disgusting coffee, and reminds himself that he’s not going to fall in love with Liam.

It doesn’t work, because he’s so in love with Liam he can’t think straight, which really isn’t helping him write his book that still isn’t started.

It’s just. Zayn’s said Liam is beautiful and he definitely is, but it’s not just his muscles or his lips or his slender neck, it’s the way he smiles while he talks about going home for Christmas; it’s the way he can seem so confident but can still be so sheepish; it’s the way he is a genuinely good person, always wanting to the right thing; it’s the way he looks at Zayn. He looks at Zayn like he’s _really_ looking at Zayn, eyes fond and soft and the color of syrup.

-

“You’re coming to my birthday party, right, mate?” Louis asks, turning to him as he pauses the game of Fifa they were in the middle of. “It’s not a question, really, because you’re _going_ , but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

“Of course he’s coming, Lou,” Niall shouts from the kitchen where he’s getting them all another beer.

“What Niall said,” Zayn laughs.

“Good,” states Louis. “It’s gonna be sick,”

“Is Liam invited?” he wonders.

Immediately, Zayn regrets asking as Louis’ face lights up with mischief. “Oh yes, lover boy, Liam is invited.”

“Shut up,” Zayn groans. He shoves his face into one of the throw pillows on the couch before Niall can sit on it. Niall puts the beer into the hand Zayn extended without lifting his head from the pillow.

“Cheer up, Zaynie; maybe Liam will leave Sophia for you.”

“Like that’d ever happen. In my dreams,” It’s true. He’s honestly embarrassed to say he’s dreamt about Liam leaving his girlfriend for Zayn, and they are some of the best dreams he has. Aside from the ones where he’s having sex with Liam, but. He’s not going to say that, obviously.

“Oi, you never know!” Louis exclaims. Taking a sip of his beer, he places a hand around Zayn’s ankle. “How is the book doing, by the way? Gotten any further?”

“Yeah, about that…” he begins, nervously tearing the damp label off his bottle. “I haven’t really started.”

Louis goes still, which is always disconcerting because he is constantly moving. Yeah, he was afraid of this happening.

“What do you mean, you haven’t started?” asks Louis incredulously. “What have you been doing? Wh—I don’t understand?”

“I’m sorry, I really am, it’s just. I’ve been having so much trouble getting motivated, it’s like I have nothing to write about.”

“Well that doesn’t sound like you,” Niall points out from where’s he’s perched next to Louis on the arm of the sofa.

“That doesn’t sound like you at all, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, yeah, I mean…” Zayn tries to explain, except he doesn’t know what’s wrong with him either, so it’s pretty difficult. These are such foreign waters to him. He has always loved to write, it’s been his escape since he was just a child, and he’s usually never short on ideas. Quite the opposite, actually. They’re usually spilling from his ears. “Don’t worry, yeah? Just a case of writer’s block, like, it happens to the best of us.”

“If you say so,” Louis says, eying Zayn skeptically. He nods firmly because Louis does not need to be concerned over this, he’s got so many things to worry about; Zayn may be Louis’ favorite client, but he is not his only one, and he can’t be distracted fretting over Zayn’s…constipation.

-

Liam’s sweater is too big on him, sleeves falling over his hands. It smells like him too, woodsy and spicy and all-around _manly_ and _sexy_.

The ‘theme’ for Louis’ birthday/Christmas party was ugly sweaters. While complaining to Liam about not having one, Liam offered to let him borrow one. Of course he did. It really is ugly, too. It’s navy blue with white and red reindeers dancing around and it’s incredibly scratchy and uncomfortable but it’s Liam’s, so it’s fine.

Zayn can hear the music from Louis’ flat before he walks in, a bottle of blush wine in one hand and his present in the other. Once again, he is completely amazed at how Louis goes all out for parties. All of the furniture from the living room has been moved, and Zayn knows it’s all crammed into Louis’ bedroom. There are Christmas lights strung around the walls, and multiple food tables, and an impressive alcohol station.

“Zayn!” he hears from his right and he swivels to see Louis stumbling towards him, hanging off of Harry’s shoulders, clearly already drunk. He’s wearing a bright red sweater with white stripes, which isn’t exactly Christmas-y but it’s Louis’ party and also his birthday so Zayn figures he can do what he wants. “So happy so your beautiful face!” he slurs as presses a slobbery kiss to Zayn’s cheek.

“Happy birthday, Lou,” Zayn says, “Where should I put these?” he asks, gesturing to the items in his hands.

Louis flails his hand in a general direction and mumbles something inaudible. Harry sighs fondly and looks incredibly amused as he takes Zayn’s stuff and grins, “Let me put these away for you,”

Zayn jumps at his vison goes dark, a pair of hands covering his eyes. He grabs at thick wrist and has an inkling of who it is, but plays along anyway. “Who is this?”

“Who do you think?” he hears Niall deadpan.

“It’s Leemo!” giggles Louis.

Liam pulls his hands off Zayn’s and turns him around by his shoulders. His smile is large, eyes disappearing into tiny crescents, and he looks so boyish that Zayn with how much he wants to kiss him. Liam’s sweater is bright green with red stripes that give the illusion of suspenders with little jingle bells on them. It’s unbearably cute and Zayn grins helplessly.

“Hi,” he laughs.

“Hi, Zayn,”

Gosh, his eyes are _so_ expressive, and they are entirely too soft as they gaze at him, and Zayn has to look away. They give him false hope, because they may shine with something familiar to love, but it’s not the love Zayn wants, and it won’t ever be, so. There’s that.

Through the colors of the Christmas lights, Zayn can tell Liam is pleasantly flushed with alcohol, chubby cheeks faintly tinted red. His sweater is slightly loose but he can still see Liam’s defined biceps, and his blue jeans are deliciously tight.

It’s going to be a long, long night.

Four hours later and Zayn is fantastically drunk. He’s three beers and six shots of tequila in and he feels great. He feels good enough to dance to the music that’s playing so loud Zayn swears the walls and floor are shaking. It might also be because the party is practically over, the last straggling guests filtering out the door.

There’s no doubt in Zayn’s mind that he looks like a total idiot, but he’s too trashed to care, and so he dances to the beat without inhibitions. His beat may be a different beat than the _actual_ beat, but who the fuck cares, honestly.

Arms snake around his waist from behind and he falls into a large, warm chest. Hands grasp at his hips gently, and he puts his own hands on top of them. He turns his into the man’s neck, and as he opens his eyes—

It’s Liam.

Zayn instantly stills, throwing Liam’s hands off his hips and spins around face the other man.

“ _Liam_?” he sputters, eyes wide. “What are you doing? Wh—what are you doing?” he repeats. Before Zayn can say anything else, Liam pulls him into a kiss by the back of his head.

It’s like the entire world stops.

He can no longer hear the overbearing music, all he can hear and feel and taste is _Liam_ , Liam who has a girlfriend and Liam whom Zayn is unbearably in love with.

He opens his lips to ask what the fuck is going on, but Liam takes it as an invitation to deepen the kiss, tongue exploring the inside of Zayn’s mouth. He’s so warm and fuck, Zayn hates himself for falling into it, arms wrapping around Liam’s thick waist.

Liam breaks their kiss just to say, “Don’t say anything, okay? Just let me—can I have this, please? Just this,”

His voice is drenched in husk, about three octaves deeper than normal, and Zayn can practically smell desperation on his breath. And this is wrong, it’s very very wrong, but Zayn has always been weak, especially for Liam, so he just twists his hands into Liam’s hair. Liam’s pulls them tighter together and they’re pressed extremely close together, Liam’s warmth bleeding through all of the layers.

He starts walking backwards toward where Zayn knows is the guest bedroom and holy shit, they’re really doing this, aren’t they? He wonders where Louis and Niall and Harry are, if they saw them, if they think he’s a slag now or a home wrecker.

Liam slithers his hands under Zayn’s (his) sweater, pulling it up over his head. His lips are attached to Zayn’s neck now, biting just behind his ear lobe, and Zayn can’t stop the moan that pushes through his teeth unbidden, no matter how hard he tried to hold it back. He licks his lips, tasting the sour tequila from earlier but mostly he tastes Liam.

With a jolt, Zayn realizes they’re on the bed by now. He loses himself in Liam, nothing else matters when he’s with him, and it’s never been so prominent until right now, minutes passing without a care as Liam’s hands and mouth roam all over his body. They settle on his face, thumbs rubbing back and forth across his cheekbones. It’s entirely too sweet, too _Liam_ , and for a split second Zayn wishes that Liam was different. Liam is being too nice, as per usual, and Zayn is falling even deeper.

Liam fumbles with the button on Zayn’s trousers as Zayn tries to remove Liam’s god-awful jumper.  Liam pulls off his trousers and his pants at the same time, and Zayn’s naked below Liam, and everything is moving so fast.

He gets Liam’s jumper off and instantly clutches at his shoulder blades, fingering the dents that disappear and reappear as his muscles contract. Liam’s trousers are still on, so when he grounds down against Zayn, he feels a delectable sting along with a crashing wave of pleasure. He trails his fingers down Liam’s spine until he reaches the top of jeans, sliding his hands underneath and palming his arse.

The other man responds with a heavenly moan that vibrates against his chest and burns right through his skin. Liam disconnects their lips and Zayn’s whimpers, but before he can tug Liam back down, his hands aren’t touching Liam at all anymore. He would complain, but since Liam’s taking off his clothes, there really isn’t much to complain about.

A groan is punched out of Zayn as Liam unexpectedly grips his cock, hand tight just under the head, where it’s sensitive. There’s a sheen of sweat on Liam’s forehead, and his cock is hard and red. It’s a decent size, just as Zayn imagined it would be, and we wants it inside of him, he wants _something_ to happen before the bubble is popped and they have to return to reality, where Liam is cheating on his girlfriend and Zayn is so in love he’s willing overlook that fact.

“Liam,” pants Zayn, piercing the silence that’d fallen over them. Liam’s eyes snap to him, so dark they’re almost black. “Do something, please.”

God, Zayn is pathetic, he’s _so_ pathetic and pitiful because he just came off as astonishingly needy and he _is_ , and. He needs Liam to touch him.

Time seems to slow for a moment. Liam crawls over him gently, caging his head in between his arms, his body completely blanketed over Zayn’s. Staring into his eyes, Zayn is naked in a completely new way. He’s so afraid that Liam can see everything, all of the feelings he has tried to hide so desperately from Liam. And Liam’s…Zayn has always stood by the belief that Liam’s gaze is too soft, too kind, and way too inviting. Right now, taking in Liam’s expression, Zayn could be convinced that his feelings were returned, that’s how open and intense the other boy seems. But Zayn knows better.

The next touch of lips is so different than it’s been. This is slow and sincere, as if Liam’s taking his time to taste Zayn this time around, and it causes a knot of warmth to burgeon in his belly. He thrusts up, cock dragging against Liam’s stomach, the stray tendrils of his pubes vaguely tickling in an enticingly filthy.

“D’ya think Louis has lube in here?” Liam rumbles, the sound reverberating.

“Yeah,” he breathes, palming Liam’s neck, fingers faltering on the large veins, helplessly pressing a slick kiss there. “Probably in the night table… Louis’ a slag.” He tries to joke, but it goes unheard. Liam is seemingly in an entirely different world.

Apparently he finds lube because the next thing Zayn knows, Liam’s finger is prodding at his hole, mouth licking at Zayn’s tattoo in the middle of his chest. He moans, voice cracking, and grips at Liam’s shoulders, one hand palming the back of his scalp, hand scratching through Liam’s short hair.

Liam thrusts his digit in and out. He quickly adds another, fingers pressed tightly together. Zayn hisses and clenches around them.

“Are you alright?” asks Liam as his movements still.

Zayn frantically nods, “S’been a while, is all, keep going, please.” He shamelessly begs.

It feels so good Zayn can barely believe it, he’s two fingers in and he’s already the best Zayn’s ever had. Not that Zayn’s had a ton, but—it’s _Liam_. He’s beginning to use those two words as answer to everything.

Zayn jerks as Liam fleetingly presses against his bundle of nerves, cock hardening up in full so quick it’s almost dizzying. “Again—do that again, fuck,”

Liam chuckles darkly and it’s so sexy that Zayn almost comes right then and there, which would be so mortifying but the effect Liam has on him is insane. He presses two more fingers in at once, now four fingers in. It’s a bit of a stretch, and it burns a bit, but he doesn’t mind.

Zayn gasps as Liam suddenly pulls his fingers out and jerks Zayn’s cock once, twice, before he slides a condom on and slicks up his cock, hitching Zayn’s scrawny legs onto his shoulders. He digs his heels in.

Zayn shivers as the head of Liam’s cock catches on his rim, eyes rolling back as he can’t help but clench. “Please,” he whimpers, and he honestly doesn’t give a fuck how needy he sounds because he wants Liam inside him right this second and he’s being a tease. Liam’s hands smooth up his sides and his cock slides into Zayn, not stopping until his hips are snugly warm against Zayn’s bum.

As he waits for Zayn to adjust, Liam thumbs at his nipples, where he’s extremely sensitive, and his breath catches in his throat while he thrusts down, Liam’s cock dragging just right inside of Zayn. “Move, Liam,” he croaks.

And Zayn is so incredibly fucked, because how in the hell is he supposed to move on from this? How is he supposed to forget about this? There’s no way he’ll ever forget how Liam’s arms flex holding himself above Zayn; how his cock twitched every time Zayn moaned into his mouth; how is heat in overwhelming, completely submerging Zayn. He can’t.

Liam’s hand drops one of his legs and shoots out uncertainly as if out of his control, back of his hand caressing Zayn’s cheek. His expression twists and Zayn has to close his eyes. A hand grabs at his cock and Zayn thinks _I’m not going to last very long_ before he comes, body tensing up as he holds his breath.

Liam throatily groans, pace doubling, hips snapping quickly. He hits Zayn’s sensitive prostate and his eyes shoot open, cock spurting one last shot of come. His vision is spotty and that’s when Zayn realizes he hasn’t taken a breath, and he gasps.

There’s a subtle change in Liam’s breathing; his thrusts get sloppier and more uncoordinated and Zayn knows he’s about to come. In a split-second decision, he grips the back of Liam’s head and forcibly pushes his face into the crook of his neck. He can’t—he can’t handle seeing Liam’s face when he comes, because that face isn’t his. It’s not for him, and it never will be, because it will always be for someone else.

Liam stills as he finishes, hands clenching so hard at Zayn’s wrists he’s sure there will be bright purple bruises there. There’s a moment of silence, the only sound is their harsh breathing, before Liam pecks his shoulder sweetly, and pulls out.

He sits up, back to Zayn as he ties off the condom and tosses it in the bin. Zayn can see his back tense, and he knows what’s coming but he tries to delay it.

“I can’t believe we just shagged in Louis’ guest room.” Zayn tries to joke, but it falls flat. Excruciatingly flat.  

“I just cheated on my girlfriend,” Liam states, head falling into his hands. Zayn swallows thickly.

“Liam…”

“I’m not gay, okay?” he says, still not facing Zayn. “I swear I’m not, I’m just—”

“It’s okay, Liam,” placates Zayn. It’s not okay, actually, but it doesn’t matter.  “Really,  
it’s—”

“No!” Liam exclaims, turning to face Zayn, resembling a lost puppy and Zayn’s heart clenches. “No it’s not okay, it’s…this can’t happen again, alright?”

And yeah, Zayn saw that coming, but it really doesn’t make it any less painful. He nods anyway, lowering his eyes. Liam dresses frantically, and Zayn wordlessly hands him the jumper he’d borrowed for the party, still refusing to meet his eyes.

Liam leaves without so much as a goodbye, even though he’s going back home and probably won’t see Zayn for four days, and Zayn’s never felt so empty before. He’s also never felt betrayal before, but he didn’t know it would burn so bad, the pain spreading from his tip of his scalp all the way to the bottom of his toes.

-

Zayn doesn’t sleep that night. He jumps in the shower to wash away the flakes of come on his stomach and the feeling of Liam. Suddenly he remembers the lads, and he sincerely hopes they’ve been asleep this whole time.

He spends the night staring at the ceiling, only blinking when his eyes start to water.

-

The entire weekend Liam is gone Zayn is sleeping, eating, or drinking. A lot.

It’s ridiculous, really, because Zayn has no reason to feel hurt. He knew the second Liam kissed him it was doomed. Liam had a girlfriend, and Zayn very much knew that, so it’s his own fault that he feels like this.

But, for that fleeting moment together, Zayn could pretend. He could pretend that Zayn was the one Liam loved, the one he came home to, and the one he kissed goodnight. It all became too real, and Zayn was too deluded, that’s why he feels like this. It’s not Liam’s fault.

-

Waking up slowly and gingerly is always extremely satisfying. It’s even better when there’s someone running their fingers through your hair. But the only person that has a key to his flat besides himself is—

“Get up, sleeping beauty,” Louis whispers way too closely to his ear. He swats somewhere in that general vicinity but he’s pretty sure he’s not even close.

“What’re you doin’ here?” slurs Zayn sleepily.

There’s a pause. He hears two distinct thuds on the floor and feels Louis crawl into bed next to him. His eyes flutter open and he squints up at Louis’ face from where he’s sitting against the headboard. He looks weirdly serious.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Louis purses his lips and runs his hand through Zayn’s messy hair once again. Keeping his hand palmed on the back of Zayn’s head, he confesses, “I’m worried about you, tosser.”

“Why?”

“You’re not yourself lately. And I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all weekend…did something happen?”

Zayn tries not to tear up, he really does, but he’s never been good at hiding his emotions from Louis because it’s no use. Louis is perceptive and always has him figured out. He shuffles over to lay his head in Louis’ lap.

“What’s wrong, love? Tell me,”

He squeezes his eyes shut. Here goes. “I slept with Liam.”

“You—” his hands cease their soothing movements in Zayn’s hair, “You _what_?”

“We had sex,” Zayn explains shakily, “the night of your party, we were both sorta drunk and it just…happened.”

“But Liam—”

“Has a girlfriend, I _know_ that, and I didn’t even care. It’s awful,” he says, blinking carefully, a few tears dripping down the bridge of his nose.

“What…have you spoken since?”

“No,” he sobs, “he left without a word and then nothing. I don’t wanna lose him as a friend, Louis,”

“You won’t,”

But there’s no way tell. Zayn may have fucked up their entire relationship. They may not be able to recover from this. And the thought of never speaking to Liam again hurts more than anything else.

“I love him, Louis.” Zayn says lowly. A couple more tears. “I love him.”

“I know you do, Zayn.”

-

There’s a knock on his door as he steps out of the shower. He dresses quickly and is toweling off his hair as he opens the door only to see Liam there. Ridiculously, he drops the towel and the ground.

Liam doesn’t say anything. He just crowds into Zayn’s space.

“Liam—” is all Zayn manages to get out before Liam’s lips are on his and _god_ , he tastes the same, like cinnamon and regret and _cheating bastard_ but most of all he tastes like Liam.

They don’t even make it to Zayn’s bedroom. They collapse onto the floor, right there in Zayn’s living room, Liam’s chest draped over his back, his tangled together. It’s fast and fleeting and so, so confusing but it’s so _good_ at the same time.

“Just one last time,” Liam gasps into his mouth as he comes.

-

It’s not _just one last time_. In fact, it becomes a regular thing. Liam’s still not gay, and Zayn’s still disgustingly in love with him, and there’s still a girlfriend no one talks about.

He’s being used and he knows it; it’s slowly eating away at him, but he can’t stop because Liam is addicting and Zayn has a habit of losing himself in things. Sometimes he wonders what Sophia is doing, if she knows Liam is fucking around behind her back, but he forces himself not to think about it. It hurts less.

-

They’re lying in Liam’s bed, tangled up in each other once again.

He looks up at Liam, really stares for the first time in a long time. Lately, ever since they started shagging, he’s avoided Liam’s eyes, too afraid of what he’d see in them—love, hate, fond, anything. Any emotion is too much emotion with Liam. He’s unusually expressive.

“Your eyes…” Zayn swallows, trailing off.

Liam gently prods his side and asks, “What about them?”

“They’re like the dark side of the moon.”

“Doesn’t that mean they’re cold?”

“Not to me,” he denies, “it means they’re dark, and full of things too complex for me to even begin to understand.”

Liam seems to stop, then. He looks oddly effected, until, “I barely understood that, Z.” Liam teases, “You’re too smart.”

“No,” Zayn denies once again, but it’s either too quiet and Liam doesn’t hear him, or he does and just decides to let the statement lie there in the warm darkness of his bedroom.

-

Day by day the deadline for his next novel approaches.

Day by day Zayn gets no writing done, receives no inspiration.

Day by day the bags under Zayn’s eyes get deeper.

-

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Zayn.”

Playing dumb, he asks, “Doing what?”

“You _know_ what,” Louis rolls his eyes. “This thing with Liam is fucking you up.”

“Yeah, it is,” he agrees, shocking Louis, “but I’m so gone for the bloke I’ll take what I can get. How screwed is that?”

“Look at me, Zayn.” Louis shouts over the music. They’re at a pub because Louis begged him to come, probably for this very reason. He complies and looks at Louis, and his stomach twists at the pure concern clouding Louis’ sky blue eyes. “You do not deserve this. God, Zayn, you deserve so much _better_ than this.”

“I—”

“I know you love him. It’s not enough, okay? It’s not because Liam clearly doesn’t give two shits about you.”

“That’s not true.” Zayn protests weakly. “We talk and he doesn’t…he treats me well.”

Louis scoffs, “You think fucking you behind his girlfriend’s back is _treating you well_?”

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore,”

“Too fucking bad!” he shouts, pulling Zayn’s drink out of his hand so he can’t be distracted. “You need to hear this!”

“I don’t, because I already know all this!”

“Then stop? Zayn, whatever you feel for Liam, I promise it’s not worth it. It’s not worth how he’s treating you.”

“But…”

“Please, Zayn, relationships aren’t supposed to be like this. And clearly Liam isn’t the kind of boyfriend you want if he’s cheating on his girlfriend.” Louis says.

“He’s just confused,” Zayn defends.

“It doesn’t _matter_. He’s using you. He has to know how you feel by now, and he’s still continuing this…he doesn’t deserve you.”

“I love him,” Zayn states uselessly, but it’s pointless. He knows Louis is right. The situation with Liam is ruining him, bit by bit. He’s got to put an end to it.

-

Pulling up to his parent’s house always gives him chills. There’s a mixture of good and bad feelings that scramble up his spine. He remembers family and love but there’s also loneliness and rejection and overall sense of being lost.

Last night, after his talk with Louis and his subsequent realization, he made the decision to come home because it never fails to clear his mind. He hasn’t even told his parents.

Tentatively knocking on the door, he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. He’s strangely nervous and he has no clue why because it’s only his parents. His mouth is in his throat as the door swings open and he sees his mother’s loving face.

“Sunshine!” his mother cries happily, and there’s an expression of pleasant surprise in her eyes and her smile. She instantly holds up her arms and he shuffles forward and tucks his face into her neck. Almost immediately after her arms are secure around his waist he bursts into tears.

“Oh, darling, what’s wrong?” his mum croons, petting his head, and he wants to stop crying because he knows he is scaring her but it’s like now that he’s released these emotions they won’t stop. It’s like in that moment; he discovered just how miserable he’d been these past weeks.

“Momma,” Zayn croaks, clutching onto her harder; he’s probably crushing her but he can’t help it. He’s crying harder than he ever has.

Ten minutes pass and Zayn backs away, wiping his sore red eyes. “Sorry, mum,”

“Don’t you apologize, Zayn Javadd.” His mum scolds him. “Just tell me what’s wrong,”

He’s shaking his head before she’s even done finishing her sentence. There is no way he’s telling her anything. “Can I just go up to my room, please?” he asks, feeling more like a child than he has in years.

“Of course, baby.”

He rushes up the stairs to his old bedroom, not even bothering to get his luggage from the boot of his car. Walking into his room is practically surreal, since he doesn’t feel like himself anymore, hasn’t in a while. He takes everything in: his old drawings, his juvenile Marvel bed sheets, before his eyes fall onto the awards he won for his writing back in secondary school. Next to the awards are copies of his books. He’s almost entranced by them.

And just like that, the itch Zayn has desperately missed is back in his hands, and his fingers twitch for a piece of paper or his laptop, _anything_ that he can write on. The relief of his mind opening up is exhilarating, and he takes a seat in his desk chair in front of his old computer.

All of his life, Zayn’s heard _write what you know._

And he’s about to.

-

Once he’s begun, he’s unstoppable.

It’s not a hard guess as to what he’s writing about, and now that he’s allowed himself to think about it instead of ignoring his own feelings, he finds that he has _a lot_ to say. It’s so refreshing writing again, he feels like the old Zayn, and he forgot how therapeutic it is for him.

Another good thing about this is he knows how the story ends now. He’s figured out what’s the best thing to do for himself and everyone involved, and that’s two weights off his shoulders: Liam, and his novel deadline.

He spends an entire week cooped up in his bedroom, barely eating or sleeping, just writing. He put all of his energy into his work, and by the time the Friday sun dawns, his new story is finished, and ready to email to Louis. It’s never been like that before, and he’s quite impressed with himself. There’s a reason authors have months to create before an official send-off date, but Zayn guesses with the right attitude and motivation (hello motivation, you have been missed) writing a book in a week is entirely possible.

He hadn’t even read if over before sending it to Louis, just handed it over blindly, with no way to tell whether his story is total shit or not. Hopefully it’s not terrible, or else Zayn will be really disappointed.

-

“Zayn?”

Deep breath. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you, I…” Liam pauses, “I’ve missed you.”

“Have you?” asks Zayn disbelievingly.

“I have. What happened?”

Here it comes. This is going to be the hard part, because he does really love Liam. And he’s not the bad guy Louis made him out to be—quite the opposite, actually. Liam is the nicest bloke Zayn’s ever met, he’s just confused about his sexuality and his life, but Zayn knows that Liam never meant to hurt him, he never had ill intentions. And intentions are everything.

“Liam, I can’t do this anymore,”

Silence, as to be expected.

“Why not?”

“Because I love you,”

Liam makes a choked sound over the line. Zayn’s having trouble keeping his own tears at bay. He wishes beyond anything that things could be different. Or scratch that, _would_ be different, because things _could_ be different, things could be amazing, but Zayn’s learned it’s out of his control. If it was his decision, this wouldn’t be happening, but it’s not, it’s Liam’s decision—and it’s always been her.

“I love you too,” Liam finally struggles out.

Zayn smiles sadly even though Liam can’t see him. For months now, all he’s wanted was to hear those words directed at him from Liam’s mouth. But now that he has it… “But not enough. And not in the way I need.”

“I’m…Zayn—”

“It’s okay, Liam. I’ve come to terms with it, honestly, but we can’t keep doing what we’ve been doing. It’s killing me.”

His heart thuds painfully below his ribcage hearing Liam cry over the phone. He didn’t think it would be this hard for him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t…”

“Liam, it’s all good.”

“You’re too forgiving,”

“Maybe,” Zayn concedes, laughing, “But you’re my friend.”

There’s another silence, only sniffles here and there from both sides, but it’s a comfortable silence because he knows Liam is thinking.

“I wrote a book about you. About us,” he decides to say.

“You did?”

“Yeah, defeated my writer’s block, you did.”

Zayn smiles when Liam laughs. “Glad I could help,”

“Will you read it?”

“I don’t know,” confesses Liam, “I don’t wanna relive how terrible I treated you.”

“It was never that bad, Liam, don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“Zayn.” He says sternly.

Zayn realizes what Liam is doing. It’s not necessary to him, but he understands that Liam needs this. “I forgive you, Liam.”

“Thank you, Zayn. I’m still so sorry.”

The phone isn’t as heavy in his hand anymore, his shoulders don’t seem so hunched, his vision seems brighter than usual. He’s so glad he did this. All of it, everything.

“Will I ever see you again?” Liam asks, sounding like he’s in a proper drama movie.

Zayn scoffs, “Of course you will, Liam, don’t be daft. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“Good,” he teases.

Zayn feels warm.

-

Louis thinks his book is fantastic.

“You did a beautiful job, Zayn,” he praises, “Smashed it, as usual.”

He’s swept up in the world of press and signings and he’s nervous as hell for the release date, because he feels out of all his novels, this latest one is the most in depth. It’s basically Zayn on an operating table, cut open for all to see, and it’s incredibly intimidating.

There’s no need to worry, apparently. His book is a success. Almost overnight, he’s off on a book tour in most of Europe and even some states in America as well. Zayn’s praised once again for the rawness of his story, how realistic it is how flawed the characters are.

It’s a never ending high, honestly. He’s never wanted anything but to be an author. His whole life in the making and it’s finally paid off, truly paid off.

Eventually, the hype dies down and he’s back to being a regular civilian. Zayn’s grateful, actually, because he’s always been a private bloke, and it’s a relief not to be cared about anymore. He finds it kind of ironic, since as a child all he wanted was to be liked by everyone and to fit in, but he was happy when all of his small stints in ‘fame’ were short lived.

He has more downtime between this novel and the next, and when he isn’t sleeping, he plans on spending it with his mates. Regrettably, he’s barely spoken to Liam since that fateful phone call all those months ago. It feels like it’s been a lifetime.

-

Walking up to the coffee shop makes Zayn feel strangely nostalgic. He’s missed the tiny place. He’s even missed its disgusting coffee. Most of all he’s missed Liam.

There’s still a bell on the door, and it brings a grin to his face as it tingles. It’s impressively busy even though it’s like eight in the evening. He breathes in the smell of coffee beans, and it makes his mouth water.

The counter is empty, which is weird, but it reminds Zayn of the first time he really spoke to Liam. The idea of ringing the bell that continues to rest there still makes him uncomfortable, so he doesn’t, he just waits patiently.

“Sorry, how can I—Zayn!”

Zayn’s eyes lock onto Liam’s and he hasn’t changed at all. His irises are still a spicy color of brown, the warmth in them searing through Zayn and making him blush. His hair is a little longer now, but it’s still encased in gel styled in a stiff-looking quiff. His lips are a dusty shade of bubblegum pink, nicely shaped and a good size. A small amount of scruff litters his full cheeks but despite that, he looks so boyish still. Zayn’s fingers itch to touch as his gaze lands on the familiar birthmark at the bottom of Liam’s neck. It’s been so long, but Liam is still the most beautiful man Zayn’s ever seen. And Zayn still loves him so very much.

“You’re back,” Liam acknowledges, eyes wide and mouth floundering.

“Yeah, finished my tour a couple days ago.” He says.

“Can we—?” Liam looks around aimlessly, so adorably awkward and flustered it makes Zayn’s belly ache. “Could you stay for like, an hour? Until we close? I really—I wanna talk to you, okay? Is that okay?”

“Cool,” assures Zayn. Liam seems so earnest and nervous, as if Zayn’s gonna say no (like he’d ever do that).

“So, you want your usual?”

“Glad you remembered,”

-

Zayn’s idly playing on his phone when Liam finishes cleaning up the shop.

He kept apologizing, religiously until Zayn finally told him to relax. It wasn’t like he had any other plans, anyway.

Zayn looks up from his phone when he sees Liam’s shoes stop in front of him. Changed out of his uniform, he looks comfortable in his grey joggers and loose white t-shirt. He still looks so nervous, and Zayn has no idea why. Patting the seat next to him, Zayn locks his phone and angles his body so it’s more or less facing Liam as he perches next to him on the terrible squash-colored couch.

It’s silent for a couple moments.

“How’ve you been, Liam?”

Liam answers immediately, almost cutting him off, “I broke it off with Sophia.”

Zayn blanches. A seed of hope refuses to be planted in his throat. He may still love Liam, but he figures there ship has long since sailed away. It’s a shame.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Liam.” He lies. He hopes it comes off genuine.

“I’m not,” Liam says, “Zayn, I’m not because our relationship was over way before I ended it. It was over even before we started sleeping together.”

“Okay…”

“And I think I knew that, too, I just didn’t wanna admit it. But then I lost you, even though I never really had you, and that’s when I figured out that a dead horse really is a dead horse. Or however the saying goes,”

Zayn laughs.

“I’m bisexual,” Liam continues, “I denied it for so long because I was bullied throughout school because I wasn’t manly enough for them, I guess.”

That’s ridiculous, Zayn thinks, looking at Liam’s muscles and remembering his thick cock. Liam is _all man_.

“And finally, I love you.”

White noise. All Zayn can hear is white noise, and did he really hear what he thinks he heard?

“It’s true, I love you, and I’m really sorry it’s taken me so long but I’ve always been quite daft.”

“You love me?” Zayn manages.

“Yes,” confirms Liam, “I love you so much.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. The biggest grin graces his mouth, tongue pressed up against the backs of his teeth. “I’ve waited so long for you to say that to me.”

“I know you have, and I—”

“I don’t care,” Zayn interrupts, shaking his head, stupid smile still on his face. “I love you too,” he tells him, before he leans over and connects their lips.

It starts out sweet, like most of their kisses have, but then Liam’s tongue lines his lips and he opens them so Liam can lick inside. He’s missed Liam so much; he tastes the same he’s always tasted and an overwhelming sense of love and adoration washes over him. “Say it again,” he pulls back to say.

“I love you,” Liam mumbles as he peppers kisses up and down Zayn’s jaw before settling at his special spot right below his earlobe.

He grabs Liam’s shoulders and pushes him so he’s lying back against the sofa before he crawls on his knees in between his legs, hands caressing his thighs. “I wanna suck you off, okay?” Zayn requests coyly.

“As if I’d say no to that,” Liam sputters, face already flushed, spreading down his neck and under his shirt. Zayn tugs at the waistband of Liam’s trackies, and he lifts his hips so Zayn can pull them down to his ankles, along with his boxers. He grabs at Liam’s half-hard dick, pressing light pecks to the knobs of his knees.

Once Liam’s cock is fully hard, Zayn leans in and nuzzles slick kisses up and down the shaft, before paying extra attention to the thick vein. He feels Liam shudder, and his hands compulsively clench from where they’re tangled in Zayn’s hair.

Teasing a little, he tongues lightly at Liam’s slit, hands just barely brushing at his balls. Considering how loud Liam’s moaning, Zayn figures he’s doing something right. He leans in to nose as Liam’s balls, giving little licks here and there, one hand wrapped loosely around his cock.

He thumbs at the bundle of nerves right below the head of his cock. Spitting into his hand so it isn’t completely dry, he starts fisting Liam’s length, mouth fitting over the cockhead. He swivels his tongue around it, all the while alternating between a loose and tight grip on his dick, twisting every few upstrokes.

“God, you feel so good, Zayn, I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

Pulling off of his cock for a moment, Zayn says, “Say it again,” before lowering his mouth onto his cock further this time, taking more into his mouth.

“I love you,” Liam pants, “I love you, and I fucking love your mouth,”

One hand leaves Zayn’s hair and thumbs at his bottom lip, palming his cheek so gently and affectionately that Zayn pulls off Liam’s cock once again and fits three of his own fingers in his mouth. When he feels he’s sucked them wet enough, he lowers onto Liam’s cock as much as he can.

He unbuttons his trousers and slides them to his knees, hard cock slapping up against his belly, before reaching back with his left hand and circling his hole, tentatively pressing one of his own fingers in. Zayn’s so hard that there’s a shiny spot on his stomach from where he’s smearing precome.

“That’s so sexy,” groans Liam when he notices Zayn fingering himself. “I wanna—can I fuck your mouth? Please can I fuck your mouth?”

Zayn moans filthily, sticking a second finger inside himself, nodding as much as he can with Liam’s cock still stuffed in his mouth. He starts to scissor his fingers slowly as Liam thrusts shallowly, careful not to make Zayn gag. Liam looks fucking _sinful_ like this, eyes struggling to stay open and brows gently furrowed. His pupils are blown wide, and his mouth his stained red from where he’s been biting at his lips in an effort to rein his moans in.

At the sight of Liam, Zayn adds another finger, seeking out his prostate. He also encourages Liam to thrust deeper in his mouth, cock _just_ touching the back of his throat, enough to make his eyes water. He jolts forward, however, when his fingers brush against his prostate, and it causes Liam to hit the back of his throat.

“Ohhh, fuck, _Zayn_ ,” Liam croons, weakly yanking Zayn’s hair to warn him he’s about to come. Zayn determinedly stays down. Liam thrusts rapidly as he reaches his climax, and he sags against the couch while he comes, ropes of it hitting the back of Zayn’s throat. It makes his mouth taste bitter, but it’s worth it when he sees how flushed Liam is. He knows he did a good job.

Releasing Liam’s cock, he awkwardly wanks himself off with his left hand, his right hand moving in and out of himself. He comes pretty quickly, staining his jeans as he slumps against Liam’s calf.

“Come up here,” Liam commands, hitting Zayn’s shoulder, still knackered from his orgasm.

Zayn does up his jeans and sits on Liam’s lap, placing his chin on top of Liam’s head, his sandy stray hairs tickling his nose.

“I love you,” Liam says again. Zayn doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing him say it. He thinks that’s probably the whole point.

“Me too,” he replies sleepily. He’s always tired after he comes. His eyes close, but before he drifts off into a light sleep, he manages to joke, “Oh my god, we just had sex at your job.”

Liam giggles, kissing him soundly on his lips. It’s as sweet as it’s always been.

-

(And there you have it. Started in a coffee shop, ended the same.

I _told_ you it was cliché.)

-

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really cheesy. i hope you liked it!!! :) please please comment and kudos because they're everything to me, and you could also follow me [here](http://subspacezayn.tumblr.com/) or [here](https://twitter.com/sourdoughzayn) if you'd like!!


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